Page 75 of What We Burn

“Lucky I like to watch,” he rumbles, his chest vibrating against my shoulder as I pass.

The main floor is empty, with chairs stacked on tables, the bar wiped down, the exhibition stage bare. It smells like leather polish and a ghost of last night’s expensive perfume. Micah is behind the bar, and Eli is sitting on one of the stools across from him. They’re close. Not touching, but close in the way that means something has shifted. Micah’s body is angled toward Eli instead of away. Eli’s shoulders aren’t hunched up around his ears. There’s a pastry on a plate between them that they seem to be sharing.

Micah looks up when we walk in and his face softens immediately. “Morning, baby girl.”

“Morning.” I cross to the bar and let him pull me in for a kiss. His hand cups the back of my head and for a second I forget I’m still annoyed at Holden, not to mention Eli. Then I pull back and remember.

Eli’s watching. He looks away the second I clock him, but not fast enough. Jealous. Hungry. But the sad puppy eyes are brighter today.

Micah’s doing, I’m guessing.

“Okay.” I put both hands on the bar. “Since everyone’s here. I think it’s a good time to let you know that I want in.”

Micah blinks. “In?”

“The Hangmen. The operations. Whatever you call what you do. I want to be a part of it. Officially. Starting today.”

Silence meets my pronouncement. They exchange glances in that infuriating silent language they’ve built over years of hanging people together.

“She’s been making this case since we left home,” Holden says, taking up a position against the end of the bar with his arms folded. He looks pointedly at Milo. “Among other things.”

“I was multitasking.” Milo hops onto a stool and spins once. “Advocating for her rights and giving her an orgasm. I’m an efficient man.”

Knox’s eyebrow lifts a fraction. Micah looks between us, reads the situation in about two seconds, and has the decency not to comment. Eli stares very hard at his pastry.

“Can we focus?” I say. “I want to be part of the operations. Real ops. Not sitting at home twiddling my thumbs waiting for you to get back and pat me on the head like I’m a good little girl.”

“Nobody pats you on the head.”

“Metaphorically, Micah. You metaphorically pat me on the head and then go hang people without me. Even Knox had to miss out last time.”

“I didn’t mind,” he rumbles. The look he gives me is hot as fuck.

Down, boy.

“That’s not the point.”

Micah leans on the bar, both arms flat, giving me the steady, open look that means he’s taking me seriously even if he’s about to disappoint me. “You know I respect what you did on the beach to Brock. We all do. But there’s a difference between what happened with Brock—which was in the heat of the moment—versus a planned operation.”

“Sure, what I did was instinct. But imagine what I could do with a plan.”

“Kitten’s planning ability is elite,” Milo says, folding a napkin on the bar top.

“Milo, your judgment is compromised,” Holden says flatly. “You just came inside her ten minutes ago.”

“My judgment is enhanced. Post-nut clarity is a documented phenomenon. I’m operating at peak rationality right now.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eli mutters into his mug.

“Look.” I spread my arms wide, making myself as big as possible. “I’m not asking to lead a mission. I’m asking to be in the room. To know what’s happening. To have a say in the plan, especially if the plan involves me in any way. And yes, maybe I want to help hang the next asshole who needs to be killed. I’m going crazy sitting around waiting for someone to try and kill me again. I want to feel useful, and I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

Knox shifts against the wall.

“It’s not about what you can do,” Eli says quietly.

It’s the first thing he’s said directly to me in days, and his voice is careful, low, like he’s bracing for impact.

“Then what’s it about?” I ask.